


insita hominibus libidine alendi de industria rumores

by janie_tangerine



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: (because he loves geralt ofc), Bards, Crack Treated Seriously, Getting Together, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Little Shit, M/M, Rumors, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, geralt is just like wtf is up with every idiot bard in this continent except mine, quarantine fic of doom, the continent ships it, the power of folk songs ™️, this is not a serious fic at all, very mild sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23282590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: or: five rumors that were spread about Geralt and Jaskier by other people, and one that Jaskier spread himself.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 49
Kudos: 805
Collections: COWT - Clash Of the Writing Titans/Chronicles Of Words and Trials, oh YES





	insita hominibus libidine alendi de industria rumores

**Author's Note:**

> For more quarantine fic of doom: always for the writing challenge where I had to pick Latin titles, I ran into this one which means _Men have an innate desire to propagate rumors or reports_ , and I read it, THIS HAPPENED and yeah. Have some crack/humor without any other redeeming purposes than forcing Jaskier through second-hand embarrassment at the hand of former classmates/bardic friends and having Geralt being like 'why are they all like this NOT YOU JASKIER YOU'RE AN EXCEPTION'. I don't even know anymore.
> 
> Also, I own nothing, the title belongs to my former high school companion Titus Livius and really this fic has no other redemptive quality if not the crack.

**one** :

Now: Geralt is used to pretty much _any_ kind of reception he might have in villages he visit. He’s also braced to all of them, especially considering that they used to always be negative, and the situation has only gotten better now that Jaskier has been traveling with him for a while, but — well. Now at most he _leaves_ the village on a merry note, but no one actually throws a parade if they’re happening by.

Which is fine. He’d rather have no one noticing him.

Except that _this_ particular village is… weird. Because the moment they show up, every single person of the female variety they see on the way to the inn starts giggling.

As if they’re _adorable_ or something of the kind. A few point. A few blush.

 _What the fuck_.

“Do you have any idea of what this is about?” He asks Jaskier.

“Absolutely not,” he replies, and he sounds sincere, so Geralt lets that go for now. He goes to the inn, finds an easy contract, says he’ll be out in the afternoon, takes care of it with minimal effort and has time for a bath and a change of clothes before they have to go downstairs for dinner and Jaskier plays his set.

The inn is full of _a lot_ of young girls, more than usual.

They also keep on giggling as they glance at both him _and_ Jaskier.

_What the fuck._

When the maid shows up with a free ale refill, thankfully they’re a generous bunch, he clears his throat.

“Say,” he asks, “do you know why… your friends are so… enthusiastic?”

She _blushes_.

“See,” she says, “there was this other bard who happened by a few months ago, I think the name was Sorrel, who had a few songs… well, about the two of you. In which he said, well, that you’re involved.”

“… We’re _involved_ ,” Geralt says.

“Indeed!” She chirps. “And it sounded like such an _adorable_ tale, and now you’re obviously besotted, so… the girls might have run with it, you know.”

“I… I see,” Geralt says, “thank you.”

He doesn’t correct her, because while they’re not involved he _would_ much like to be, except that he’s not going to ask because there is no way Jaskier wants that, too.

“Aw,” she coos a moment later, “apologies if it’s inappropriate, but the way you look at him is just… so _adorable_ ", she says.

Geralt has _never_ , in his life, been called adorable.

“But the way _he_ looks at you? I wish I was so lucky that I had a man who looks at me like that,” she sighs, and then moves on to the next table.

 _What the fuck_.

( _Later, in their room, Jaskier will half-apologize about Sorrel, he knows him from Oxenfurt and he always was the kind of guy who liked to make things up, but he sounds regretful, and Geralt will ask if he wanted that rumor to be true, and Jaskier will say yes, and the girls will about swoon as they see them kiss on the edge of the village the next day._

 _Later._ )

**two** :

A few months later, and it happens _again_ , except that this time people downright _blush_ when looking at Geralt.

Even _men_. Who actually, if they don’t blush, look at him with _envy_.

After half an hour of that charade, Geralt asks Jaskier to please find out what the fuck is it about. Jaskier goes to find the inn’s maid, who also _blushes_ as she tells him what’s most hopefully the answer, and _then_ Jaskier makes a mortified face.

“What’s _that_ about now,” Geralt groans as Jaskier sits at his table.

“Uhm. Oh gods, this is so embarrassing, but — right. So, uhm, you remember when weeks ago we ran into that friend of mine, Basil?”

“… The _other_ one from Oxenfurt who favored that rather horrid orange clothing?”

“Yeah, uhm, well. He asked if we were, you know, doing what Sorrel said we did, and I didn’t deny it, and we were drunk, and it might have slipped me that you were, uhm, very generous behind closed doors, but I don’t think he understood what I meant by _generous_.”

Geralt really hopes he heard wrong.

“… What does that mean?”

“That he, uh, wrote a song, which was very popular in brothels, apparently, about how you’re, er, well, extremely well-equipped. Down there. Gods, I’m _so_ sorry, if I ever meet him again I’m going to have his head —”

Geralt sighs, figuring that the damage is done, and as far as rumors go… better than people speculate about the size of his dick (which is actually... not _like that_ but not the contrary either, he's entirely fine with it and why is he even considering the matter now?) instead of about how they could drive him out of town.

“Never mind,” he says. “It’s not as if _anyone else_ gets to see it, right?”

Jaskier spits his ale, not having expected _that_ at all.

Geralt lets himself smile ever so slightly.

He rarely manages to one-up Jaskier in these circumstances… but he kind of does enjoy the shit out of it, when it happens.

**three** :

“No,” Jaskier says, “no, no, _no_ , that’s not a thing you actually _did_.”

At least, Geralt thinks, this time they ran into _the actual bard who spread this one rumor_ without needing to hear it from other people.

It’s another of Jaskier’s former classmates at Oxenfurt. This one is named Saffron and is clad in bright yellow clothing that feels like a punch in the eye, and Geralt wonders if each single bard in existence has a preference for extravagant bright colors — at least Jaskier’s clothing is _nice_. This is just tacky.

“Well, that’s what that innkeeper said, who am I to doubt him?”

“You _didn’t_ write a song about how we _broke the damned bed in Posada_ , because sure as hell it never happened! Gods, now half of the continent thinks we’re two savages. _Great_ , Saffron, just amazing, _you owe me ten_ , fuck’s sake.”

“I can give you a share of the coin I’ll make from playing it tonight?”

“As long as neither of us is present,” Jaskier sighs, and Geralt doesn’t protest.

It’s free money, after all.

But he’d really like to know why all of Jaskier’s friends seem so _bent_ on making coin off the two of them.

**four** :

“Phlox, _damn it_ , seriously?”

Geralt says nothing as Jaskier stares down a colleague of the female variety who also, apparently, was in his Oxenfurt classes. He’s starting to wonder if _that_ one generation of bards has issues with self-preservation, but he doubts he would have an answer if he asked. The girl in question, a redhead with green eyes and freckles all over her cheeks and a sheepish look on her face, smiles awkwardly.

“Well, it’s — it’s a _popular_ topic, all right? Everyone who was in our class is making coin out of it, you cannot begrudge me if I joined them!”

“Never mind that it’s really not — I mean, fine, I write songs about _him_ but he knows that and he’s been there all along while you all never even asked permission, but — for — how could you prattle about how _I couldn’t ride the morning after each time he shags me_? I mean, that’s a bit too much, isn’t it?”

Her sheepish smile gets wider.

“I _guess,_ ” she says, “but people want to —”

Jaskier groans louder.

Geralt takes pity on him.

“You know,” he says, “you _can_ tell her.”

“Geralt, she’s done too much already, it’s fine —”

“Really, you can. Or I will, it’s not like it matters.”

“… What exactly?” Phlox asks, tentatively.

“See,” Jaskier says through gritted teeth, “while I _do_ remember that your past time in university was guessing who took charge in the bedroom each time you saw a couple passing by, in this case not only you really could have just _avoided_ that, but — case is, the only reason _he_ doesn’t have issues riding his horse in the morning is because he recovers from… _certain activities_ way faster than a regular person, and he doesn’t lie back and take it because he wants to be cavalier, but _that’s actually how we like it as a general rule_ , so how about next time _at least_ you set the record straight? If there is one. Because I’d rather you didn’t.”

The girl has gone as red as her hair.

Geralt grins slightly. He thinks he’s beginning to perversely find a lot of fun in _this_ endeavor. “He _is_ that good a fuck, you know,” he deadpans.

From the way she looks at them, he’s pretty sure she’s _not_ going to sing about either of them in _any_ position any more.

**five** :

“What the _fuck_ ,” Geralt says mid-song.

He says it loud enough that half of the audience turns to them and the female bard on stage abruptly stops playing, her dark eyes going wide as she notices that Geralt is in fact _present in that tavern_.

He usually wouldn’t have been this rude, but the way Jaskier had looked when he heard the first stanza of that song was enough to make Geralt’s stomach turn upside down and honestly, _what the fuck_ was that even, and he’s not particularly interested in hearing the rest of it.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispers, “ _let it go_ , I think I know Marigold here by fame — I mean, she wasn’t in class with me but she always was, uh, assuming things about people. Don’t worry, it’s not worth it.”

“Like hell,” he hisses back, and then he stands up. “Lady,” he says, “I have come to realize that there is no way of stopping any of you from writing songs about me or him or the both of us at this point, but if you kindly would stop assuming that _it’s a mystery why I keep him around_ that would be appreciated.” He’s tempted to stop there, not wanting to cause a scene, but he can’t help thinking about how _hurt_ Jaskier had looked at that assumption and — fine, he hates talking about his damned feelings and he dislikes talking to people in this kind of situation period, but he most likely wouldn’t even be here enjoying his dinner and having been paid without complaint if Jaskier hadn’t showed up and _stuck with him_ regardless of how much Geralt spent the beginning of their acquaintance doing nothing to motivate him to stay, and that’s not even a tenth of it.

He thinks he owes him a bit more.

“He’s — he was my friend first and that hasn’t changed _now_ , he might not be good with swords but he’s good at _his_ job, sometimes you _do_ want people around that will make you laugh when your life really doesn’t give you much reason to, and assuming that I am some kind of immensely gifted warrior and he has nothing to bring to the table is really… rude. At best. Now if you would kindly never play that again, that would be lovely of you. Thank you.”

He sits back down on his chair and takes a sip of ale.

The girl does nothing for a beat and then just leaves the stage.

Probably better like this.

He sighs, looking back up at Jaskier, who is staring at him with wet, wide blue eyes, his hand brushing over Geralt’s —

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“Make nothing of it. It was the truth,” he says, “and I just hope this shuts down _that_ one rumor once and for all.”

**plus one** :

“ _What_ is this about?” Geralt asks as a young page, dressed in clothes entirely too fancy for the backwater village they’re stuck at because there was a flood nearby and the road ahead is closed (and he certainly is _not_ going back, not after what happened in the previous town on this route that he visited a while ago), drops a _hefty_ bag of coin in his hands.

He smells trap.

“Uhm,” he says, “that is, uh, courtesy of, the alderman in Ghelibol.”

Geralt, hearing the name, just keeps on smelling trap.

“The alderman in Ghelibol,” he repeats, slowly, “has made _extremely_ clear what he thought of me when I was there months ago, when I just wanted to collect my pay and leave, and he has also made extremely clear that I am not wanted anywhere near Blaviken, _and_ he also made extremely clear that I wasn’t welcome even to rest after I almost lost an arm fighting the _four_ werewolves when his contract said that there was just one of them on the loose, so pray, why is he sending me what looks like _ten times_ the money that contract offered? Because I don’t believe for a second that he’s sorry about it.”

“He, er, he said that it’s your pay, doubled for compensation, and the rest is to make your bard stop.”

“… To make my bard stop doing _what_ ,” Geralt replies.

“He, uh, a week or so after he chased you out —”

“After _your entire town_ chased me out,” Geralt corrects. Not that he’s not adjusted or like he doesn't take them as a job hazard at this point, but those stones had hit _pretty damn hard_ before Jaskier shamed them into stopping.

“Well, er, so, a week after then some merchants passed by and usually they would have stopped at the inn but they just moved on to the next village even if it was late, and then it happened _again_ , and a month later no one was dining there or selling goods at the market and so on, and then this bard showed up and we told him that most likely we wouldn’t have much coin for him but he said that it was fine, he just wanted to play Master Jaskier’s latest composition for the people he had written it for —”

 _What the fuck has Jaskier done now_ , Geralt asks himself, and then —

“And, uhm, it was mostly about the alderman but also about, er, everyone else, and it said that it’s a town full of thieves where you pay for a room at the inn and end up swindled of all your coin, that the food is subpar, that the people aren’t friendly and that was just one stanza. Then there are three about how the alderman is a frankly horrible human being who’d let children starve before parting with his money and a lot of other assumptions that are, well, maybe a bit exaggerated even if he hasn’t the best character, but it’s been a long time and business is _dying_ and we really can’t afford that bad a reputation, so — uh, the alderman _did_ send me to your bard first, offering him the money to stop. A few weeks ago.”

Huh. Jaskier didn’t tell him.

“And I suppose he didn’t accept?”

“He told me to tell the alderman to go get fucked with a rusty heavy chain. So, uh, well. The alderman said to find you and ask _you_ instead.”

Geralt thinks he wants to laugh.

Surely the man didn’t expect that _he_ would be the reasonable option to negotiate with, and yet.

Instead, he reaches out and takes the money.

“You can tell the alderman,” he says, “that I will talk to Jaskier and I most likely will convince him to stop playing that song on account of the children living in your not so fair town, but if I can’t convince him I’m taking the money as compensation anyway. And that maybe next time he should avoid trying to swindle someone who’s traveling with a bard. Everyone knows they’re _that_ good at spreading rumors.”

The page immediately nods and runs off where he came from.

Geralt feels a certain warmth bloom inside his chest as he pockets the bag of coin and lets himself smile.

He _will_ ask Jaskier about it.

But he’ll make sure to show him that he appreciated the spread of _this_ one rumor, for once.

End.


End file.
